We Swore We Knew The Future
by rib
Summary: Yeah, everything goes away. Kenny and Craig.
1. 1

"Cheer up, Craig."

Kenny leaned over, and Craig found his face so close to Kenny's that if he were to lick his lips, he was sure he'd have a taste of the blonde's as well. He imagined that they'd be moist. Salty. Soft. His eyes darted up to meet Kenny's and he let out a short gasp, startling himself as his warm breath bloomed in a fog between him and Kenny. Last time he checked, eyes were never so enticing, nor capable of resembling entire galaxies. Eyes were once just parts Craig always avoided looking into. They were much too personal; much too willing to reveal things that Craig was perhaps too cruel or too afraid to know.

Of course, Craig was getting used to finding Kenny an exception. Somehow, Kenny'd cracked the system—changed the game. It was almost certain that his eyes would instill such a jolting sense of wonder within Craig.

" Stop laughing when you're crying, dumbass," Craig croaked, "I'm not blind." He swept his arm across his face and cleared his throat loudly.

In a boisterous act of defiance, Kenny pulled away and cackled, each breath staggering from his quivering chest. "Hey, you started it."

He should have expected the twinge in his chest (somewhere between his lungs) when he realized that the tears dribbling from those eyes held so much more than what he could collect in a pool in his palms. The feeling came in an instant. Craig wanted to grab Kenny's hands. He wanted to ask I but he had no clue what the question was. He just needed to know.

"Come on, Craig," Kenny's voice was at a warm murmur. "We'll be all right."


	2. 2

The sweater looked ridiculous on Kenny. It hung on him like a great sack. The aquamarine fish that seemed to swim on the wavy lines across Kenny's thin chest were just a shade away from that of his eyes. The dominant navy blue of the thing wasn't even Craig's favorite color. According to Craig, that was the reason it had been given to the blonde in the first place.

The sweater was neither unwanted, nor old, nor any of the horrible things Craig said it was. He'd seen Kenny walking in front of his house without the orange parka on while editing a video of Clyde throwing up on Wendy. He'd forgotten about wanting to wear the dumb sweater to his movie-hangout-not-date with Tweek next Thursday. It only took four minutes of yelling out the window for the blonde to come inside the house and drink some of Craig's dad's coffee and accept Craig's new sweater. He was wearing the most pathetic smile in the world.

"What's wrong with you?" The clock struck two as he strode back into his room, having returned the used mug to the kitchen.

"I came from Stan's."

"Well, shit," Craig said, sitting himself down next to Kenny. "How'd that go?"

"Shitty," Kenny laughed, "-ly."

Craig looked around his room, trying to find something helpful to say. He didn't realize he was picking at the knitting of the sweater Kenny was wearing. "You wanna… talk about it?"

After a few seconds, Kenny shook his head.

"You're crying."

Kenny shook his head some more.

"Dude," Craig swung his legs behind Kenny and lay down on next to the wall, "are you gonna make me look like an idiot? That's what you're doing. You wanna tell, me. Come on."

Kenny sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Fuck you, Craig," he handed the other boy the tag of the sweater before laying down beside him and telling him about his day.


	3. 3

The little convenience store radiates a faint white light against the overbearing sheet of darkness, right on the edge of town. Under the weight of such a dreary night, Kenny feels like the night could just scoop him up and swallow him whole. Maybe he'd become another scintillating speck, sprinkled somewhere over the earth. But maybe he'd be spit right back out because the sky probably wouldn't like the taste of immortal white trash. A certain plump lady of the night is completely out of sight, hiding behind the massive, monstrous trees that border the neighborhood. Snow drifts down from the heaving clouds, like cold seeds from the sky.

Kenny zips and unzips his parka nervously. He nearly knocks his empty Coke can over a few times from shuffling his feet.

A few away, at a distance that falsely indicates unfamiliarity, Craig stands against the corner store's entrance. His eyes are closed and flakes of fresh snow get caught on his lashes. He is wondering how many of the stars are watching them. He wonders just how much they care about the ones they are watching, and if they're really so much bigger than he is.

After a few moments, Craig turns his head silently to make sure Kenny's hasn't frozen to death. At least, this is what he claims after inquisitive blue eyes meet his. Craig nods to himself, lips tightening to subdue a potentially crazed grin. He sniffs as he contemplates telling Kenny how utterly content he is about where they are. They could be huddled together under a duvet on the Tucker couch, watching a movie Craig has memorised down the credits. They could be playing footsie at Whistlin' Willy's, sharing a milkshake and some fries for which they have absolutely no intention of paying. Instead, they are standing outside a 7-Eleven, two feet away from each other with a cigarette box and a dozen ugly butts between them.

A dull clack indicates Kenny has finally kicked the can. Craig straightens up and hurries into the little store to buy him another pack of cancer sticks.


End file.
